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"When there is a mismatch between the way you are living a life and the structure of meaning that tells you how to live a life ... it makes some sense to say that sometimes a person should be alienated. Given certain circumstances, alienation is the proper response."
-- Carl Elliott in his essay "Pursued by Happiness and Beaten Senseless: Prozac and the American Dream"
Carl Elliott gives the example of Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain. Sisyphus may be happier sweating under that rock with a stiff dose of Prozac, but it's still a damned rock and his life is still pointless, despite his improved sense of well-being and acceptance of what made him sick in the first place. Based upon my own experience, I may have to differ with Carl a bit on that one. Throw in 200 milligrams of Provigil and a decent opiate and even a rock becomes imbued with deep meaning.
At any rate, our regulating government only issues the good zippies to fighter pilots and night-scope stalkers in Iraq, and I suspect citizen dissatisfaction will have to get much worse before it rolls out the primo stuff for the rest of us. But let's not despair. Millions of Americans already gobble illegal mood-altering drugs or hammer the bong. There's still money to be made there, still dough on the table, and big pharma will eventually get around the current regulations, or have them changed.
Scratch the surface of a blissful consumer and often as not you find a person hollowed out by anxiety and hopelessness. I watch coworkers and good friends suffer -- to the extent they are still capable of feeling anything -- anxiety, learned helplessness, excess weight, job meaninglessness, all of which can supposedly be relieved by gulping down Prozac or something like it. Then in their newfound functionality, they suddenly realize they hate their dinnerware and are tired of all of their furniture, and that a little retail therapy is in order. I swear there seems to be a link between Prozac and shopping.
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